


Preferential Thought

by timorous_scribe



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Drunkenness, Dry Humping, F/F, Past Relationship(s), Sleepy Sex, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timorous_scribe/pseuds/timorous_scribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's the things that are, and then there's the things that are that Quinn prefers not to think about. Like how similar she and Santana really are, or what her obsession with Rachel really means. Set early S3, just after the punk!Q phase ended. Q/S dry-humping, mentions: Quinn/Mack, S/B, and Q/R</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preferential Thought

**Author's Note:**

> Quinn-centric. There is an [eventual] follow-up for this, as well as I can't seem to write any decent Q/S without having strong overtures of Q/R; so if you're not on the Faberry bandwagon, this one might not be your thing.

_*bzztbzzt*_

Quinn ignored the buzz from her beside table, preferring the company of her book to whomever might be on the other side of the phone. There really wasn't anyone these days that warranted putting down a good book. She spared a quick glance to the vibrating annoyance and was relieved when it stopped after the initial buzz, signaling a text message. She twisted a newly re-blonde lock around her fingertip and returned her attention to the page open on her lap.

 

_*bzztbzzt*_

The second buzz earned a glare with a long-suffering sigh.

 

_*bzztbzzt*_

The third pulled an actual growl from the girl's throat. Who dared?

 

Since her return to Glee and apparent abandonment of the rebellious life, the Skanks didn't have much to say to her anymore, and the Glee kids still weren't sure what to make of her. Her mom was downstairs doing whatever it was she did with her time since the divorce (Quinn preferred not to think about whether there was a difference between doing Jack Daniels with the The Real Housewives of Orange County versus doing Jim Beam with Bill O'Reilly).

 

That was really the only people that ever hit her phone now. There was Mack, but that was just for... well, she also preferred not to think about why Mack still called her.

 

Quinn absolutely _refused_ to think about why she still answered.

 

She blinked a few times to focus her vision, re-reading the paragraph she'd been stuck on since the buzzing started.

 

_*bzztbzzt*_

She threw the book down beside her with a huff and reached for the blinking phone. She _really_ wasn't feeling like seeing Mack’s familiar dark eyes tonight, and had herself very content with the idea of reading in her room all weekend. Since ignoring the messages hadn’t worked, she was now sufficiently riled by the persistence to give the girl a piece of her mind.

 

Her eyebrows shot into her hairline at the name displayed on her screen.

 

**Satan's Slut**

_heyyyyyyy_

Why Santana would be texting her at half past midnight on a Friday night, she couldn't imagine. After exposing 'her softer side' or whatever at the fence that one day, only to be shot down, Santana had turned her bitch back on full-force. That was kind of what Quinn had been going for, though, so she didn't rise to it. She couldn't afford to get reminiscent over old connections that only ever ran as genuine as the polyester in their Cheerio uniforms.

 

The memories of two years worth of sleepovers and Cheerios practices, New York and the last day of their Junior year, all flashed in her mind's eye. The images settled on Santana's expression as Quinn had walked away that day with only "deal with it" for a parting comment. She pushed the guilt away with a shake of her head.

 

No. That wasn't something she could allow herself to feel. It would only distract her from her efforts to get Beth, and she would fail again and have to start all over. _Again_. Just, **no**.

 

**Satan's Slut**

_pause bein.a.dwlinquien lon f enigh ttak 2m_

Okay, so Santana was wasted. Lovely. She felt a moment of curiosity at why San would be texting _her_ , and not Brittany or Puck, before it was eclipsed by the more comfortable annoyance. How was she supposed to even decipher the random letters on her screen, anyways?

 

A small voice in the back of her mind (that sounded not unlike Brittany, if she were being honest with herself) whispered that she knew exactly what it said, despite typos, and she rolled her eyes. She wasn't a delinquent anymore, she was a shiny perky blonde again (disingenuous as it may be) for Beth.

 

**Satan's Slut**

_i k ow i k ow ur no.a.delownt amyor.  WATEEVR_

She couldn't help a small smirk at the message. Sometimes she forgot that Santana _did_ know her, and the affectionate feeling of being predictable to someone else started a warmth in her chest.

 

**Satan's Slut**

_FABRRAY_

She tapped the text field and stared at the blinking cursor for a few moments, her thumb hovering over the letters without touching one. What did she say to that? _Yes, Satan?_ seemed too subservient, almost too inviting. _What?_ didn't do much better.

 

She sighed. If San was drunk, then no matter what she replied with she would be inviting communication. _Would that be so bad, though?_ The Brittany-voice piped up again. She **had** been lonely, though she didn't like to own up to it to _any_ one, let alone herself. She had to admit that Santana and Brittany knew her better than anyone. Well, other than Rachel and her freakish ability to read _exactly_ what Quinn was feeling, even when she was working so diligently to hide it that no one else had a clue.

 

 _That_ was an entire thread she **definitely** preferred not to think about. __

She was spared the decision of what to reply with, or what to think about friends, or Rachel, or _anything_ , really, by her phone lighting up in her hand. Santana's voice crooned from the surprisingly loud speaker, "Science fiction... double feature... Doctor X.. will build a creature.." Quinn stared down at Santana's picture on the screen, allowing herself a small chuckle at the ringtone she set last year for Santana and Brittany both.

 

"Why am I doing this?" She asked out loud to the empty room, hitting the Answer button. "Yeah?"

 

"FABRAY!" Santana barked out of the earpiece, shadowed by thumping bass and the dull roar of many voices in a small place. Quinn cringed and pulled the phone away from her ear at the volume.

 

"Lopez!" She responded, making sure to add enough HBIC snarl to the statement that Santana would understand she wasn't pleased by the call. It was lost on the inebriated girl.

 

"What're you _doin',_ Quinn? It's been forever! You could, like, _call_ a bitch sometime, ya'know..." Santana was evidently even more drunk than Quinn had originally assumed. Her words ran together with a lazy sort of utterance that brought San's normal half-lidded drunk expression clearly to Quinn's mind.

 

"You decided to check in on me at one in the morning, San? Really?" Quinn settled back against her pillow again, picking up her book as she dryly replied. "This couldn't wait til Monday... or _never_?" She flipped a few pages, trying to find her place.

 

"Don't even **try** to act like your lonely ass ain't happy to hear from me. Shit, you _need_ a friend, girl. You should be _thanking_ me for taking time outta **MY** Friday night--"

 

"Shouldn't you be fucking Brittany in front of some disgusting jock by this time of night? What do you **want** , Santana?" Quinn hissed. The last thing she needed was a ration of patented Santana Lopez truth. The girl was actually quite perceptive, but Quinn wasn't about to listen to an accurate depiction of her sad social life. Especially not from Santana Lopez, the proudest kitty lover in the closet, still desperately trying to pretend to everyone else like she wasn't in love with her best friend.

 

Pot, meet kettle, mutual hypocrisy didn't mean you got to throw slurs.

 

"Reow, kitty kitty... retract them claws, _damn_." Santana was frustratingly unfazed by Quinn's venom. "Sorry for, like, actually _caring_ to check if you'd offed yourself in a fit of postpartum yet or not. Next time I won't bother." She ignored the clumsy jab that was, by Santana’s standards, out-of-date, when she heard a sloppy _pshaw_ from the other girl, delivered directly into the phone. Quinn could almost _see_ the spittle across the touchscreen.

 

Gross.

 

Drunk people were hardly her favorite, given her family and her own experiences, and sometimes they were just _gross_. She was legitimately considering just hanging up when she heard the fiery girl change gears.

 

"'Sides, Britts be doin' her _own_ thing tonight," she whined in a nasally mocking of the blonde. "Shit, I don't know her life!" Santana snapped. Quinn could clearly picturethe other girl pushing her way through the crowded bar while she spoke, _oof_ s and _huff_ s of victims in her path coming through the phone.

 

"How should **I** know who she's with tonight? Stupid fucking jocks." Quinn listened without offering anything in reply as Santana carried on her erratic rant.

 

 "Not like **she** cares if I'm at a bar in Lima Heights, all alone..” Santana had stopped moving, her voice growing quieter, then heavier with emotion, with speed only the drunk seemed to be able to achieve.

 

“Nothing's ever enough for her.." Santana moaned half-heartedly. She was working herself rapidly to tears with the train of thought and it made Quinn's heart twinge for her, despite the annoyance.

 

She did _not_ want to care about Santana Lopez's heart, or how battered it was by the girl's own fears and self-sabotage. She really couldn’t handle the parallels, they just made everything too sharp and clear to ignore. Yet here she was, gone from hovering over the End key to glancing around her room for her car keys, all within one sad ramble. She was startled into action by a sudden snarl interrupting the girl’s gear-up to sobs.

 

"Hey, FUCK YOU, Shrek! You don't gets to touch this hotness!" Quinn could hear the muffled voice of a man talking to Santana and her brow furrowed. There was no mistaking the salacious tone, and Santana didn't seem to have invited the conversation.

 

"San, where are you?" Quinn hit the speaker button on her phone and set it down, rolling out of bed to pull on her shoes.

 

"I said **_no_** , Make-A-Wish! Step off before I _end_ you!" Santana's voice echoed around her room, followed by the metal crash of a door slamming, while Quinn searched for her beanie and jacket.

 

"Don't worry about where I'm at, Quinn," It sounded quieter where Santana was now, and Quinn released some of the tension from her shoulders she didn't realize she'd been holding.

 

"I gots my keys, I know my way home..." Quinn rolled her eyes and clicked off speaker mode as she quietly made her way down the stairs. She wasn't quite sure how to explain her sudden strike of pseudo-heroism, or nostalgia, or _whatever_ it was leading her to think that a) Santana needed rescuing, or b) that she was, in _any_ way, the best candidate for the job. It seemed easiest to just avoid the possibility of being forced to put it into words. One irrationally emotional drunk per night was pushing the limits of her personally defined quotas, and she really preferred not to think about what state her mom was likely in right now, anyway.

 

Santana, meanwhile, carried on defiant retorts in Quinn’s ear regarding her independence and capability of getting herself home. She paused, then released a small huff into the phone, like she'd flopped down to sit somewhere.

 

"Hey, Quinn?" Her voice sounded almost hollow now, the anger deflated from it.

 

"Hmm?" Quinn hummed back, backing out of her driveway and making her way out of her neighborhood.

 

"Do you think I'll ever be good enough for her?" Santana's voice was small and sad, and Quinn's heart cracked for her.

 

 She sighed, not knowing what to say. What _could_ she say? Brittany and Santana had been inseparable since she'd known them, they had a love she actually caught herself _envious_ of, and yet they never could get it together. Brittany would always be Brittany, complete with her pansexual attraction to everything (including shrubbery), and Santana was too scared to step forward and claim the girl. She knew they were an honest-to-goodness ‘happily ever after’ story if they could just meet in the middle. The longer it went as it was, though, the more unlikely their happy ending seemed.

 

What could she possibly say that would be comforting in that situation?

 

"You've always been good enough for her, Santana." She murmured quietly. She left it at that and continued steadily driving towards the 'bad' part of Lima--all four square blocks of it-- known as Lima Heights. There were only five bars in the whole town (which was kind of a lot, given the population), and only one that Quinn knew accepted Santana's fake ID.

 

She clicked the right blinker on and wondered idly in the back of her mind _how_ exactly she let herself get in this position, it had seemed so easily decided when she was leaving the house. She didn't particularly _want_ to be picking up her drunk not-quite-friend, but she would be damned if she would let Santana drive home, as wasted as she was, and something bad happen. That's just what she needed in her life: **more** guilt.

 

She could hear the quiet sniffling over the airwaves, letting her know that Feisty!Santana had settled into the  backseat, at least for the moment, in favor of Crying!Santana. That brought a whole different set of challenges.

 

"I’m _not_ , though. I just,... I _can't_ , Quinn. I can't do it." She tried to suppress the sob but Quinn heard it, anyways. How did they always do this, end up here, with each other? Not speaking kindly for months, only to be the first person the other turned to when having a breakdown. They always had to fight first, like they couldn't stomach exposing the vulnerability without some posturing.

 

She let the call lull into mutual breathing, listening to Santana’s quiet tears, as she made her way through the sleeping town and pulled into the bar parking lot. She turned off the engine and scanned the mostly decrepit line of cars, looking for Santana's.

 

"San, where _are_ you, anyway?" She asked, digging the mace out of her purse to hold at the ready as she got out of the car to look for her drunk almost-friend.

 

"I'm at a crossroads, Q, ferreals. That's where I am." It was a fine time for Santana to go and get existential on her. She scoffed and walked around the back of the bar, stepping carefully to avoid the puddles of _whatever_ substances littered the ground outside shitty bars. She preferred not to think about it. Thank _God_ for the rubber soles on her sneakers.

 

Seated in the back alley on a crate and barely decent in a short skirt, thigh-high boots, and halter top that almost didn't cover the purchased goods, was a dejected Santana Lopez. She didn't notice she had company in the alley and continued to cry into the phone, head bowed and shoulders slumped, arms wrapped around her raised knees. Quinn ended the call and walked over to her friend, holding a hand out and waiting for it to be taken.

 

Santana raised her head slightly and blinked at the hand in front of her. She pulled the phone back from her ear and Quinn watched her gaze swim from the hand in front of her face to the “Call Ended” blink on her phone and back a few times. Comprehension finally clicked and she dropped her feet from the edge of the crate to the asphalt below. Santana drew a bolstering sigh and stood up with only a slight wobble on her ridiculously tall heels.

 

 They stared at each other in silence for a beat--followed by another--while Quinn’s hand remained extended in offering between them.

 

“Good timing.” Was Santana’s acknowledgement, as she wrapped an arm around Quinn’s waist and started stumbling out of the alley.

 

After getting settled in the driver’s seat and stowing away her trusty mace, Quinn started the car and looked at her passenger slumped against the window, head craned sideways to rest on her own shoulder. Her lips pursed in mild disapproval and she sighed.

 

Getting Santana into the car had been a feat of at least _moderately_ heroic proportions and the brunette had been as much help as she was coherent. So, hardly at all. A sudden realization struck her and her eyes widened.

 

“You don’t even want to _consider_ what will happen if you puke in my car. So like, _refrain_ , or tell me to pull over or something.” The blonde clicked her seat-belt and shifted into reverse.

 

“Your house or Britt’s?” A small whimper at the name and a sniffle were the only reply from the intoxicated girl. Quinn pulled out the parking lot and rolled her eyes at herself for ever thinking this was a good idea.

 

“Your house, okay. Thanks for the input.” Santana lurched forward like she’d been kicked in the back.

 

“Noo..” She moaned out. “No home. Can’t go home...” Was murmured into the dashboard, where Santana now had her forehead pressed against the backs of her hands. Quinn stopped the car at the stop sign just outside the club and stared at the girl.

 

“You’ve gotta give me something, San. I can’t just drive around Lima until you’re sober.” She could see Santana’s lips moving (no distinguishable words coming out) and sighed again, gripping the steering wheel in frustration.

 

She knew Santana’s parents weren’t far off from her own--yet another point where they’d always had a mutual understanding--and Quinn was irritated with herself to find that she couldn’t throw her once-best-friend to them like this. She also had no idea if the other blonde was even home, but she had a hunch the answer was no given Santana's earlier rant. She dropped her head to the steering wheel for a moment as her only option became apparent. _Dammit._

 

The drive back to Quinn’s house was mostly silent, excluding the random indecipherable mumbles from the dark pile of hair still pressed to the dashboard.

 

The real challenge, she discovered, was getting the mostly unconscious brunette out of the car and up the stairs, without alerting Judy or breaking either of their bones. Santana weighed hardly anything and Quinn had a couple inches on the girl, but trying to maneuver both of them up to her room on only her own propulsion was difficult, to say the least.

 

She almost dropped Santana’s dead weight half-way up the staircase. The drunk girl’s jaw had dropped open from her head lolling back, and by the third step, it had flopped back forward letting her teeth kind of dig into Quinn’s shoulder. The ex-Skank stopped short and dropped her chin to her chest with a silent groan. There was a slimy wetness smearing across her shoulder.

 

Drool.

 

 _Really_? __

She shuddered slightly, the boneless girl sliding until her weight was more evenly distributed across Quinn’s back, a half-ass piggy-back ending up the easiest way to carry a hundred pounds (give or take) of mostly unconscious cheerleader.

 

Quinn squared her shoulders and reminded herself for the hundredth time in the last half hour that she was _not_ anyone’s hero, and promised that her phone would be turned off promptly at midnight here forward, to avoid such a situation _ever_ occurring again.

 

Fifteen minutes and an awkward shuffle across her own room to the bathroom later, the brunette was sprawled haphazardly across Quinn’s bed as she herself stood at the foot of it, wondering idly where her weekend of reading went. The Brittany-voice reminded her that it was sort of nice, in a way she hadn’t thought about in too long, to have a _friend_. Not Mack, there temporarily for... well, for the only reason Mack came over; and not some stupid boy she was pretending to like.

 

Quinn assessed Santana's clothing and chewed on the edge of her lip, taking quiet steps closer to the side of the bed nearest the sleeping girl. Since Santana was asleep anyways, she let her gaze take in her formidable former foe slash friend, from the pointed heels of her boots to the wild dark locks splashed across the pillows. She was kind of gorgeous when her face was all relaxed like it was now, full lips soft and delicate sensual lines to her bones.

 

The blonde felt her perusal slow over the swells of flesh rising and falling rhythmically on Santana’s chest, before forcing her eyes further along when she felt her cheeks flush, only to be slowed again by the jut of the girl’s hip. She followed the line until it curved into Santana’s thigh, the stretchy material of her skirt ridden up dangerously high to reveal a strip of skin, before it was hidden again under the leather of her boots.

 

“No.” Quinn whispered out loud, closing her eyes against the thoughts suddenly skittering around her mind. _You definitely have a thing for a brunettes_ , the Brittany-voice smirked at her. She took a slow deep breath and reached for the zipper at the inside of Santana’s thigh.

 

“You’re sleeping in your clothes, tonight.” The frustrated blonde muttered, tugging the zipper down perhaps a little more forcefully than necessary. She carefully peeled the leather away from tan skin and dropped the boot to the side of the bed. “But I’m _kind_ enough that I’ll take your boots off.”

 

The relative humor of the moment tried to materialize in her brain and she clenched her jaw, tugging the other boot off with even less finesse than the first. She preferred not to notice the softness of the skin under her fingertips, or the heat only inches away. “If I didn’t, you’d probably maul me with these heels in my sleep.”

 

Quinn walked around to the opposite side of the bed and pulled the cover out from under Santana, then slid in and pulled it over the both of them. She rolled to her back and scooted carefully until she was just beyond touching distance of her bedmate. Staring at her ceiling, she was wondering if she would find sleep tonight with the unforeseen company in her bed when Santana's hushed voice split the silence.

 

"H-hey, Q?" She rolled toward Quinn, dark head tucked to her own chest and seeming very far from the brazen hothead she normally showed. She was **awake**? When had that happened? Quinn turned to face her in the dark and _hmm_ 'ed in response.

 

"Thanks." Santana whispered. She seemed to shrink into herself a bit, just from the weight of the word. Her hand slid hesitantly across the sheet between them and paused before curling around the blonde's bicep. "I mean it." She squeezed the muscle under her fingers.

 

"I just don't.. I mean, other than Britts--" Santana mumbled a little more awkwardly than Quinn thought the spitfire capable, inspiring a surprising wash of sympathy in the blonde. She still found herself slightly irritated at the timing of this sudden moment of clarity from this girl she had all but _carried_ up the stairs.

 

"I get it." Quinn interrupted a little sharply. She swallowed reflexively and blinked at the ceiling, reading things there no one else could see. Her arm flexed in the other girl's grip momentarily as she turned to face her. "It's okay."

 

Santana sighed and shuffled that much closer to her rescuer of the evening, tucking Quinn's arm against her chest and gripping it like a teddy bear.

 

"G'night, Q." She murmured softly. Quinn clenched her jaw at the warmth against her left side and inhaled deeply through her nose.

 

"Goodnight, Santana," she whispered back. The ceiling drew her gaze again and she asked herself yet one more time (ignoring the good-natured chuckling at her expense from the Brittany-voice) _how_ she let herself get here.

 

\----

 

She was having the most delicious dream. Rachel had dragged her out of the choir room to the parking lot, pushing her into the cramped backseat of a horrid little gold-painted VW beetle. The tiny diva had thrown herself into Quinn’s lap without a word and set to sucking on her neck like “Rachel Berry’s bitch” was tattooed into the flesh, all the while grinding for all she was worth.

 

It was no surprise that the first thing _waking_ Quinn became aware of was heat. Blistering heat, almost smothering heat, heat so very intoxicatingly spicy-scented she couldn’t help but inhale deeper and press closer to it, nuzzling into Rachel’s arched neck.

 

The next thing she noticed was the weight of a soft body--the source of the heat--rocking gently on top of her and straddling her left thigh. The warm body’s thigh pressed tightly to the throbbing between her legs, flexing with every rock. She barely cracked hazel eyes open to see dark hair over her in the pre-dawn blueish light of the room.

 

Her eyes snapped shut again and she tried to will herself back into the dream of Rachel over her, Rachel’s vanilla and sugar cookies scent, Rachel’s brunette locks surrounding her face. It was what she usually did to make herself come when Mack came over for these stolen moments, and she preferred not to think very much at **_all_** about what that meant.

 

She arched her hips sharply to meet Rachel’s thrusts and the warm rocking body jolted before freezing in place. Quinn whimpered and her eyes flew open, realization striking her sleepy and arousal-fogged brain in that moment and killing the noise in her throat.

 

Mack hadn’t called her last night.

 

She hadn’t picked up _Mack_ from a bar in Lima Heights, basically carried her up the stairs of her house, and tucked her into bed.

 

She gasped, abruptly _very_ awake, and grasped tightly to the narrow shoulders above her. The heated brunette rocking wantonly into a damp patch on Quinn’s pajama pants until just seconds ago, was neither her secret dream lover, nor her guilty (but discreet) arrangement of convenience.

 

They held the tension for several moments, both panting quietly in the near-darkness and trying to regain control of rampant hormones, Santana’s face pressed tightly to the space where Quinn’s neck met her shoulder. She still hadn’t moved since Quinn had awakened her with the buck, like she thought if she were still enough she could fake still being asleep. Feeling the bubbling dread of _any_ conversation that could possibly follow this moment, the blonde half-considered letting her.

 

It didn’t sound so bad, really, pretending this _hadn’t_ just happened; pretending her almost only-real-friend _wasn’t_ grinding the two of them into a hushed needy exchange of physical reassurance neither wanted to acknowledge.

 

Then she felt the tremble in the brunette pressed against her, and full lips brushing lightly against the sensitive space just below her jawline. She held her breath.

 

“Q?” Was breathed against her skin; she felt the exhalation more than heard it.

 

"Yeah, San?" Quinn internally rolled her eyes at how breathy and _wanting_ her voice sounded. She felt a small _huff_ of a laugh from the other girl ruffle the short hairs at the back of her neck and had to suppress a shiver.

 

“Just making sure we both know who’s here...” Came the dry reply from her shoulder, as she felt Santana’s mouth spread slowly into a smirk. The blonde giggled in spite of herself and felt some of her anxiety release with the sound.

 

Quinn wasn’t sure what this would mean, or what it was, or if it even _had_ to be anything other than just ‘what was happening right now.’ It seemed so much easier to just _feel_ , and be close to someone she at least knew cared about her, even if she knew it wasn’t as much as they _cared_ about someone else.

 

She decided it was enough--just for this instant--to feel good, and she preferred not to think about it any further than that. It was mostly the same reasoning that had allowed her arrangement with Mack to continue, only this time at least she knew Santana _kind of_ liked her when they weren’t in this position. Quinn flexed long fingers against the shoulders they were still clutching before sliding up to get lost in wild dark hair, her hips lifting for the first time in minutes.

 

“I know who I’m with, S,” she whispered, leaning up to take the brunette’s earlobe between her teeth, “just don’t ask me what we’re doing, okay?” The blonde felt the other girl’s thighs squeeze around her own as she suckled on the soft flesh in her mouth, then released it to nuzzle into the sensitive ear.

 

Santana chuckled low and sexy against her neck, accepting the mutual uncertainty of the situation and indulging it without much further analyzation, as was typical for her. She sucked against the skin at her lips before lightly dragging her teeth against the line of bone that defined Quinn’s jaw. Their hips resumed the lazy push-and-pull that flared the ache from Quinn’s center, her breath catching as the sharp scrape of Santana’s teeth was soothed with the heat of the girl’s tongue.

 

“If you don’t know what we’re doing, you’re more repressed than I thought.” Santana whispered the jibe directly into her ear, then took Quinn’s mouth in their first official kiss, cutting off any reply the blonde may have offered. Sure, they had kissed at cheer camp and various parties, but it was the first time they’d done it out of actual intent.

 

Wrapping full lips around the blonde’s upper lip first, then shifting to pull the lower into her mouth and suck on it sensuously, Santana kissed like she knew how to fuck. Quinn felt her lower belly clench in want at the slick brush of Santana’s tongue against her trapped bottom lip. **_Definitely_** _knew how to fuck_ , the Brittany-voice whispered, flashes of what that tongue would feel like sliding over her clit causing her hips to jerk against Santana’s thigh out of rhythm.

 

She parted her lips and darted her own tongue out to teasingly touch before retreating, starting a cat-and-mouse game that drew a groan from the darker girl. Quinn bent her knee, pressing her thigh tightly to the wetness barely covered by Santana’s thong. She was so wet, and just, _hot_ and soft, and smooth in all the right ways; Quinn was dizzy at the feeling.

 

The brunette pulled her mouth away to gasp, her forehead falling to the pillow above Quinn’s shoulder. A low moan rumbled from her chest as she ground her hips down and back, down and back, coating Quinn’s thigh and bunching her skirt further up. Who knew under that pale ice queen front lurked _this_ kind of fire?

 

Quinn ran her nails across Santana’s scalp, dragging the points down the cheerleader's back and over the ass of her skirt, to knead muscled thighs.

 

"Watch yourself, Lopez," she murmured, unable to resist sliding her hands up under the stretchy skirt to grip that luscious ass flexing over her leg. "I might teach _you_ a thing or two." The taunt came with a tug, guiding the smaller girl's hips harder into her own.

 

Santana tried to suppress the whimper from the action, instead arching her lower back to press her ass more fully into Quinn's hands. She took a shuddering breath and repeated the movement, a whine escaping when the blonde squeezed in response. It was one of her biggest turn-ons and Quinn definitely noticed, massaging the firm flesh and ratcheting up the tan girl's arousal. It gave the blonde a heady rush of power.

 

Santana Lopez, resident queen bitch of McKinley, insatiable sex goddess and untouchable, was panting and whining and grinding herself almost to orgasm on Quinn's thigh. The blonde felt her insides clench as she realized the only thing that would make this even better--making the girl come, herself.

 

“Ohh, is that what it takes to make you purr, San?” She rasped into the panting girl’s ear, gripping tighter to the swells of flesh in her hands and pulling Santana roughly against her raised leg. “Are you gonna come all over my thigh like this?”

 

Santana released a guttural groan at the words, fumbling to push her hands under Quinn’s sleep shirt. She slid open palms up and over the smooth heated skin of the blonde's stomach and ribs, pumping her hips harder and flexing her hands.

 

She hesitated for only half of a second before roughly cupping both of the pale girl’s breasts, her thumbs rolling the nipples tightly before releasing to flick across the tips. Quinn tried to strangle the moan that bubbled up at the feeling; her breasts were extremely sensitive and her brain short-circuited at the sensation.

 

Her hips jerked up erratically to meet the darker girl's presses down and Santana grinned victoriously against the collarbone she was marking. _There it is._ She abandoned her delicious playing with hardened peaks only to grip the hem of Quinn's shirt, pulling it up and over the blonde's head before she had a chance to protest. She ripped at the tie of her halter to release the fabric, leaving it hanging from around her ribcage as she quickly lay back down over the heaving chest beneath her.

 

Santana let her eyes fall closed as she rolled her spine, sliding her entire front against Quinn's and letting out a growl at the skin-to-skin friction. Hazel eyes rolled back while the sound vibrated through her, biting down on her lower lip to hold in her whimpers. Santana hadn't let up the desperate rhythm of her hips and was determined to bring the repressed girl with her when she came, an event approaching faster than the brunette wanted to admit.

 

"I just might, Q," Santana panted, ducking her head to take a nipple between her teeth. "But not by myself..." she bit down sharply, then sucked the swollen nub fully into her mouth.

 

Quinn's head slammed back against the pillow with a grunt and she dug her fingers into the flesh still gripped in her hands, pulling Santana harder against her and lifting to meet each of the girl's thrusts. The former celibacy club captain gave up on holding in her groans of pleasure, she couldn't think beyond the building pressure in her lower belly and the hot silky wetness surrounding her nipple.

 

"So close, so close, so close.." Quinn mumbled in time with her hips. "Please, Santana," she moaned, vaguely noticing that she was _begging_ her sometimes-rival. The thought was disconcerting at best, and she knew that if she didn’t regain some even-footing in this, her counterpart would never let her live it down. Letting herself be entirely topped--by her former second in command, no less--was unacceptable no matter _how_ this situation ended up between them.

 

Santana felt her vision swim at the overwhelming flood of lust coursing through her. Quinn, her former _captain_ and the girl she could never stop herself from competing with, was _begging,_ while moaning _her_ name. She had never imagined it would feel this, this _powerful_.

 

All thought of anything but making the uptight blonde come for her, disappeared. Licking a path across the smooth valley between soft breasts, she angled her hips to where instead of her thigh, her center was pressed directly to Quinn’s.

 

“Oh fuck, Q,” the tan girl moaned out around the flesh in her mouth. There were now only two very thin, very saturated, pieces of fabric separating the swollen hot need throbbing between their legs. She ground down, swirling her hips in one direction, then the other, all rhythm lost as they pushed each other higher.

 

" _Again_." Quinn husked, slamming her hips up to get just a little more friction against her clit. Between the alternating sharp nips and sucking on her breasts and the heat pressing wetly against her center, all she needed was just a little bit more. She reached up to wrap her hands tightly in dark curls, pulling until Santana's head tipped back. "Who's making you come, San, let me hear it..." the blonde growled, sinking her teeth into the muscle of the brunette's arched neck.

 

 _Fuck_ , it was hot when Quinn got her control on. Santana stubbornly held on to the only leverage she had left--the other girl's name--while the teeth on her skin worked at that last barrier to submission. She whimpered a ragged " _Please_..." instead, receiving a throaty chuckle for her concession. Quinn was getting off as much on Santana’s war of will as she was the exquisite fire tightening in her belly and knew if she could push the ornery girl that last stretch, they’d both have the release they were holding off. __

“Please what, San?” The blonde sucked hard at the fresh bite, drawing more color to the surface and ensuring they would both be sporting dark purple hater marks the next day. “Do you want me to let you come, little girl?” Santana whimpered and nodded as much as she could with the hand holding her hair, and Quinn bit down again on her neck before releasing to lick tenderly at the spot.

 

“Guess you better ask _right_ , then, huh?” She tightened her fist in dark locks to emphasize the order and Santana’s eyes rolled back, her last resistance finally letting go with the motion.

 

“Fuck, _Quinn_ , please.. please let me come, Quinn.” Santana whined, her eyes squeezed shut and the most beautiful breakage of emotions crossing her exotic features. Quinn left one hand holding onto its makeshift leash, sliding the other down the girl’s arched back to palm her ass cheek.

 

“Look at me, Santana.” The blonde commanded. Dark chocolate eyes fluttered open immediately, meeting glittering gold. Quinn squeezed the muscle filling her hand, tightening her other to arch Santana’s neck further back. “Come for me.” She released dark hair, cupped her hand to the back of the brunette’s neck and crushed their mouths together, swallowing the groans as Santana did as she was told.

 

Her hips jerked uncontrollably, fingers flexing and releasing the flesh of Quinn’s sides as she rode out the waves. Watching the obstinate girl dissolve over her and knowing _she_ had caused the ripples still rocking the brunette, set off the fuse in the former Cheerio. Her teeth clamped into her own lip as she held her breath, body trembling and faint whimpers the only sound released as her world exploded outward, starting where their bodies pressed together.

 

The stillness was deafening in the wake, both girls still occasionally quaking with aftershocks, panting into the quiet and wondering what the hell they had just done. Santana awkwardly rolled off of Quinn to flop onto her back beside the blonde.

 

It started as a suppressed giggle, rising steadily until she was full-on laughing out loud. Quinn aimed a dirty look at the girl, offended, until the contagious cackle that was all genuine Santana got the better of herand she couldn’t help but join.

 

“You and me, Q... what a fucking pair, huh?” With that light statement, Santana shifted closer until she had one leg thrown over Quinn’s and her arm wrapped around the blonde’s waist. She sighed heavily and tucked her chin to the still unmoving girl’s shoulder.

 

“ _Cuddle me_ , bitch. Damn. You just made me come on top of you but you can’t give a _snuggle_?” Quinn chuckled in spite of herself at the typical Santana comment and threw her arm around the other brunette. She was actually so tiny, Quinn never really noticed since her attitude was such a large presence. Kind of like Rachel and her room-filling personality. She physically shook her head against the thought, _Not a preferred path_ , and sighed.

 

They settled together into a comfortable calm, sleep taking them both just as the sun was rising.

 

\--------

 

_*bzztbzzt*_

 

Quinn roused to the buzzing of her phone on the beside table. She blinked blearily at the bright midday sun blaring into her room, wondering why she’d slept so late.

 

Oh.

 

Oh _yeah_.

 

She sat up suddenly, looking to her empty bed and room for any sign that Santana had been there. Finding nothing, she put a palm to her forehead and scanned her brain, asking herself if she had really just dreamed all of that.... No way, it was way too real. Looking down at the faint nail lines scratched across her sides and light purple bite marks on her breasts she sighed. _Definitely was real._ _Shit._

 

_*bzztbzzt*_

 

What the _fuck_ with the texting, seriously? She grumbled wordlessly as she picked up her phone from the table, unlocking it and trying to make sense of the words on her screen.

 

**Sex Goddess**

_Thx 4 the snuggles ;)_

She couldn’t be more original than ‘Sex Goddess’? Santana was slacking and the blonde made a mental note to razz her about it later. A quick pulse of dread knotted in her stomach. If they were even still friends and hadn’t destroyed what tenuous connection they had with their impromptu grinding session. Quinn was _not_ trying to date the hot mess that was Santana Lopez. Hell, she wasn’t trying to _date_ girls, period. She wasn’t gay. Except for when she was in bed with girls.

 

Quinn shook her head against the thoughts, preferring not to delve into that swirling disaster of uncertainty, instead reading the next message on her phone.

 

**Sex Goddess**

_Stop freaking out and read my note. xx_

 

There was a note? Since when did Santana care enough about _any_ thing to write a **note**? She glanced around for said note, not seeing it on the nightstand by the phone, nor in the bed anywhere. She grumbled as she rolled out of bed in her pajama pants, curling her lip in disgust at the gross material scraping against her inner thighs. She needed a shower, like, **_stat_** or whatever.

 

After giving up searching the obvious surfaces of her room she decided the note could wait, she really needed to clean herself of the remnants from their evening together. While digging into her underwear drawer for a clean pair, she finally found the sheet of notebook paper covered in Santana’s girly scrawl.

 

 

_Hey._

_Don’t make this into a *thing* with your closet case neuroses, okay?_

Santana was calling **her** a closet case neurotic? She pursed her lips at the irony ( _and the accuracy,_ her ever present Brittany-voice supplied) and kept reading.

 

_We fucked. Yes, it happened, and you need to know that I love you._

Oh, oh **_god_** , no. Quinn hadn’t realized until this very moment what could actually be _worse_ than their tremulous friendship being lost from their rutting. Her stomach twisted on itself and she took a deep breath and held it, trying to quell the urge to vomit. She could **not** deal with this.

 

_STOP FREAKING OUT. Told you you’re neurotic. ;) I don’t mean all mooney-eyed and stupid. As IF, Quinn, seriously. Don’t flatter yourself._

She scoffed to herself, the brunette’s whimpering pleas to “Please let me come, Quinn, please.” the night before echoing in her brain. ‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ whatever. Santana had begged and submitted to her, and Quinn felt a light throb start in her clit at the memory. _Uh-uh, no. Not going there._ She told herself to keep reading.

 

_I mean that I love you in the way that even ten years from now, I hope I can still call YOUR repressed ass when I need someone I can count on._

_Don’t make that into a thing, either, okay?_

_\- S_

_P.S. Santana Lopez does NOT submit to anyone._

Quinn sighed, carefully folding the note and tucking it back into the drawer. Well then. At least the other girl wasn't going to tell anyone or try to make her 'come out' ( _I'm not gay_ she told herself again.) or whatever.

 

She felt the affectionate warmth in her chest again thinking about the brunette. They really did understand each other. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have a distraction from her plans for Shelby and Beth. Someone she could _trust_.

 

She laughed at herself as she padded into her bathroom to start a shower. Who would've _ever_ thought that Santana Lopez, of all people, would end up someone she trusted, a confidante and true friend.

 

 _You did_ , her Brittany-voice reminded her. _You always knew you two were cut from the same cloth._ Quinn blanched as she stepped under the hot water, not at the temperature but at the thought that she was the same material as Santana. __

As the water ran down her body, stinging slightly over nail tracks, she sighed. She was going to enjoy this shower, then go check on her mom, and maybe she’d get to read the book she'd been ripped from the night before. As for analyzing her relationship with Santana, how similar they were, how broken and misguided with their efforts to secure love...

 

Well, she preferred not to think about all that right now. Maybe some other time.


End file.
